


all great and precious things

by Anonymous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen Live, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Anxiety, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Baggage, Family Drama, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Loneliness, technically a sequel but stands alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21868648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Rhaenys builds her court, holds a feast, and talks to her family.
Relationships: Rhaenys Targaryen & Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 13
Kudos: 69
Collections: Anonymous





	all great and precious things

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after _[if that mockingbird don't sing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20838005)_.

Daenerys’s smile was bright and delighted.

“Summerhall!” she said, eyes dancing with excitement. “Your own castle! And Rhaegar’s letting me go with you?”

Rhaenys managed a smile. “Yes, so it would seem.”

“When are we leaving?”

“A week or two?” Rhaenys said. “We’ll need to alert the members of the host. They may have other duties to attend to that will delay us.”

“We don’t need a whole host, do we?” Daenerys said, lower lip pushed out in a pout, eyes pleading. “We should ride ahead. We could leave today!”

Rhaenys sighed and indulged her. “Of course we can. But then _you_ will have to pack some things.”

She gestured for her aunt to go, but Daenerys was already moving. Rhaenys had to laugh. The levity didn’t last long.

_Summerhall, Summerhall, Summerhall._

Better than being banished to the north, yes. And a seat of her own, that was powerful. But Summerhall had been built as a residence. It was only lightly fortified, and close, too close, to Dorne. No army, no bannermen of her own, and until she could replace them, her treasurer and seneschal and captain of the guard and everyone down to her master of _horse_ would be one of Rhaegar’s creatures. A symbol more than anything real.

It wouldn’t keep her _safe._

 _Tully,_ she thought. _Tyrell, Hightower…_

Perhaps one of the marcher lords. They were closer to her new castle, and allying with them would might mean she could build up a defense against an attack – Dorne at her back, new allies at her side, and she might have enough. Maybe both. She had Dany’s hand to offer as well…and surely Dany would side with her over her often distant brother…

Lord Tarly had a son – younger than her, if not so much as to matter, but close to Dany’s age. That could work. If she married a Hightower and offered Dany to the Tarly boy…

 _Would you approve, Father?_ she thought. _Would you be proud?_

It didn’t matter. All that mattered was keeping her family safe, and for that, she needed to focus.

 _One thing at a time,_ she told herself. _Go claim your castle._

* * *

When a messenger came to tell Rhaenys that she had someone waiting to meet with her, two days after her arrival at Summerhall, every worst case scenario flashed through her mind at once. Luckily for her, it was none of those.

She breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the woman waiting for her and moved to embrace her tightly. “Sarella. Thank the gods. What are you doing here?”

“Our dear cousin thought you might like a friendly face and a fresh set of eyes,” Sarella said with a grin. “I take it she was right?”

“Bless her,” Rhaenys said, and it was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Perhaps it was too dangerous to associate to closely with her trueborn cousins, but Sarella and her sisters…they could go anywhere without being noticed, speak to anyone without drawing suspicion. They were _safe._ “Come along to my solar, we can speak in private.”

“I brought Dany’s present,” Sarella said, once Rhaenys had closed the door behind them. “She’s in the stables now. Father picked her out himself.”

It was the least of Rhaenys’s concerns, but hearing it was a relief anyway. One fewer thing to worry about. One fewer thing she had to be afraid of ruining. “What about Viserys?”

“Don’t worry,” Sarella assured her. “He’s perfectly healthy, and Arianne has him well under control.”

“And how is she?”

Sarella arched her eyebrows. “Worried about you.”

It was obviously a question, so Rhaenys insisted, “I’m _fine._ Just busy trying to figure out marriages and who to invite to stay.”

“Arianne made notes,” Sarella said. “On your options. She didn’t want to risk a raven getting intercepted, so I brought them myself.”

She handed Rhaenys a sheet of paper, neatly folded. Rhaenys unfolded it to see it covered with Arianne’s cramped, rushed handwriting. Squeezed into the top right corner was a pair of dots and a curved line, forming a smiling face.

_Oh, Arianne…_

Sweet, lovely Arianne, so clever and kind and _wonderful._

Rhaenys ran a hand over the page and pictured her cousin’s smile, longed for the security of her embrace. Arianne was safe, Arianne was reliable, Arianne had been made for all of this. Rhaenys wished she were there. If anyone would know the answer, it was Arianne.

But Arianne wasn’t there. So Rhaenys drew in a deep breath, and asked, “Sarella, would you be so kind as to help me write some letters? I think it’s time we make sure everyone knows who now holds this seat.”

* * *

_Margaery for Aegon,_ she thought later, after Sarella had gone to visit the library and left her alone. _Samwell for Daenerys. Edmure for me._

Or maybe…Willas for her, Baelor Hightower’s daughter for Aegon, and Lancel Lannister for Dany? She didn’t like the idea of offering the Lannisters a princess, shifting the balance of power…but what if they took offense at her choosing the Hightowers or Tyrells over them? She let out a strangled scream and banged her head against the desk.

Aegon and Dany were trouble enough, but her…there were too many variables.

Should she wed a younger son and stick to tradition, or risk the dangers of marrying heir to heir? Did she even _count_ as an heir, with her brother to inherit most of their father’s lands, but a castle of her own? Did that mean it was more dangerous to choose poorly or less?

Maybe this was the real reason the Targaryens of old had wed brother to sister – how did _anyone_ marry without offending some family or another? If she married Aegon, that would mean avoiding that risk. Maybe she should do that and find someone discreet to father her children…

She needed a break.

She got up and went to look for Daenerys. She found her sitting cross-legged on the floor in her own sitting area, focused so intently on the scraps of wool she seemed intent on repurposing that she didn’t even notice Rhaenys entering.

“Dany,” Rhaenys said by way of greeting. “Would you like your nameday gift early?”

Daenerys started, but broke out into a bright smile as she registered what Rhaenys had said. She set aside her sewing and got to her feet. “Yes!”

And so Rhaenys led her aunt to the stables.

Dany’s eyes lit up when Rhaenys gestured to her present. “A sand steed! What’s her name?”

“Gwendolen,” Rhaenys said. “Do you like her?”

Daenerys hugged her tightly. “I love her. Thank you, Rhaenys.”

A lump formed in Rhaenys’s throat, and when she reached to stroke her aunt’s silvery hair, it was with a hand that trembled.

“I thought we could hold a feast,” she said once she could speak again. “You’re coming of age, after all – it’s a grand occasion. What say you?”

Dany’s smile broadened even further. Rhaenys felt ancient just looking at her. “Yes!”

Rhaenys smiled back and took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. One thing at a time. She could do it. She just had to keep breathing.

* * *

It was easier at Summerhall, if not by much. There were no judging eyes on her at all times, no Rhaegar constantly hovering, no need to constantly be perfect. The crushing weight was slightly more bearable. But even here, when it was late and she should be asleep, she stayed up poring over documents that could wait, because if she slept, she would find herself knee deep in snow, the echoes of screams ringing in her ears.

So she kept working.

It was routine, until it wasn’t – when she reached across her desk to grab the next paper, she knocked over her inkwell, and then she was crying.

She hastily scooted away from her desk so the tears rolling down her cheeks, dripping from her chin, didn’t smear the ink, but they kept falling, her breath catching in her chest as she struggled to get enough air.

She wanted – she wanted – she wanted _something,_ but she didn’t know what; wanted to be somewhere, but she didn’t know where; she wanted someone to hold her and tell her everything would work out, but she didn’t know who. The tears kept falling.

 _Dornishmen don’t waste water lightly,_ Arianne liked to say. _Come, now, dry your eyes._

She wasn’t Dornish, not really. She’d been born on Dragonstone and raised in King’s Landing and now was straining under the weight of responsibility in the marches. She was a dragon of nowhere, never a sun of Dorne. But she still didn’t have time for a breakdown. And since Arianne wasn’t there to take her by the chin and sweep away the tears with her thumb, Rhaenys scrubbed her face with the heel of her own hand, righted the fallen inkwell, and got back to work.

Summerhall sat at the intersection of Dorne, the Stormlands, and the Reach. Surely she could use that, somehow.

 _Can’t forget the smaller houses,_ she thought. _Make them feel important._

She considered her knowledge of the houses and ran her hand over the map. The Evenstar of Tarth had a daughter, she knew, just about her age. She could ask Lord Selwyn to send her to Summerhall as a companion to the princesses. Surely he’d say yes – there was no queen nor queen mother; Rhaenys was the closest there was. An invitation to join her household wouldn’t be turned down lightly. And she dimly recalled some gossip about a maiden challenging her betrothed to a duel…it might have been the Lady Brienne. There had been a string of failed betrothals there. If Rhaenys could arrange a good match for the girl, it could only be good for her cause. But who else to invite?

Her court should represent all of the Seven Kingdoms. Dorne was easy. Desmera Redwyne was Dany’s age, Margaery Tyrell just a little older. If she invited them, she’d have the Reach. With the Tarth girl, she’d have a Stormlander. The Vale…Lord Royce had a daughter. Rhaenys couldn’t quite remember her name – Ysabel? Ysilla? She might serve. The Riverlands had plenty of options to choose from, the Westerlands, too. As for the north…there were several girls she could call upon – Alys Karstark for certain, several others whose names she couldn’t recall. But if she did that, then she’d almost certainly have to invite one of the Stark girls once they were a little older. She didn’t want a Stark anywhere near her, but dismissing the idea of inviting them out of hand was foolish. Not when she needed allies wherever she could get them, not when her resources were so limited.

She didn’t have a lot of gold to work with. A title and a castle, yes, but it was a summer residence more than anything else. She could build it into something greater with enough time, she thought. She could summon artisans and generate revenue through – she shut that down firmly.

 _No,_ she told herself. _One thing at a time. Focus on the people. Build your household first, and if you do it right, the rest will be easy._

This was the sort of thing Arianne could do in her sleep. Rhaenys nearly started crying all over again. Sarella was wonderful and brilliant, calm and soothing, but here she needed Nym or Tyene or best of all, Arianne. Arianne would know what to say; Arianne would know the answers.

Aside from her ladies, who did she need to invite? Rhaenys pictured her cousin, arching an expectant eyebrow at her. _What kind of court do you want to establish? The who, the how, it’s all the same question._

Something lively, for certain. Generous. Something that would make her known and popular amongst the smallfolk…

 _A centre for learning,_ she thought. _Get all the smartest people in the realm. The Oldtown of the east. Maesters and artists alike._

Good, that was good. Specific. It would appeal to many, especially those still wary about Rhaegar’s irresponsibility. And the artists and performers – Edmure Tully was already coming to meet with her, and his predilection for pretty girls and amusements was famous. If he enjoyed his visit, he might stay or return, regardless of whether or not they wed. Then the Riverlands would be hers.

She glanced up from the map at the sound of a knock. Daenerys stood in the doorway, plate in hand. “You didn’t come for dinner. I thought you might be hungry.”

“Oh! Thank you, Dany, that was very thoughtful.”

She accepted the tray – bread and cheese and grapes, a soup of onion and mushroom – and set it on the edge of the table, turning back to her papers as her aunt started to leave. But then Daenerys paused and asked, hesitantly, “Rhaenys?”

Rhaenys looked back up at Dany, who stood there awkwardly, chewing on her bottom lip. The younger girl blurted, “You’ve been working for hours, do you want to take a break?”

“I can’t,” Rhaenys said. “There’s just so much to do.”

Dany stepped back into the room. “Then can I help?”

Rhaenys smiled for real then, the tension around her eyes easing. She gestured for Dany to sit. “I would welcome it.”

“So what are you working on?”

“A list. Of people we should invite to our home. What say you?”

Daenerys tucked her feet up under her and thought about it. “We could support craftspeople? Like the first Rhaenys did. The singers will write songs about you! The first Princess of Summerhall.”

“Aegon the Sixth’s older, sma – prettier sister?” Rhaenys japed. Dany’s high, sweet giggle filled the air. She snagged a grape from Rhaenys’s tray and popped it into her mouth.

“Aegon the Sixth’s most important advisor,” she said. And even though their chairs were too far apart for her to rest her head on Rhaenys’s shoulder, or curl up against her, or sprawl halfway across her lap like a cat as she often did so Rhaenys could stroke her hair, she leaned forward and took Rhaenys’s hands in her own. “The people’s princess.”

Rhaenys’s eyes stung, but she squeezed Daenerys’s hands back and managed a smile. “I’ll do my best to be just that.”

* * *

Arianne’s retinue arrived first, three days before the feast, she and Viserys in the lead. Rhaenys managed to keep calm while greeting them, but couldn’t resist the urge to command Daenerys to show her brother and his guests to their rooms so she could speak to Arianne alone.

As soon as they were in private, Arianne pulled her into a hug. She was warm and strong and smelled nice, and even though Rhaenys was taller and now a woman grown, Arianne’s embrace felt like safety, like home, like a mother’s warmth. For the first time in a long time, Rhaenys could _breathe._

Rhaenys found herself clinging to her cousin, pressing her face into the crook of her neck and breathing her in. Her mother had smelled like this, Rhaenys thought, though of course she couldn’t be sure. What she remembered of Elia came in flashes – a quiet laugh, gentle hands brushing out her hair, a voice that might have been hers and might have been anyone’s.

She did remember that she’d favoured her father’s company. How could she have done that?

When she’d been six or seven, Rhaegar had told her stories about meeting his future wife for the first time. She hadn’t wanted to listen then. Now she wondered if she should have. He might not have any right to reminisce, but surely she and Aegon had a right to _know._ As it was, all she had was maybes.

“It’s going to be all right,” Arianne murmured into her ear, stroking her hair. “I’m here.”

“Sorry I haven’t written much,” Rhaenys mumbled. “I was just…”

“Scared?” Arianne finished with a smile in her voice. “I understand. I’m here to help. I’ll have to go back to Dorne soon, but Daemon will stay with you for a while longer. You can trust him.”

Rhaenys dimly remembered seeing Ser Daemon by Oberyn’s side, years ago, so she nodded. Arianne let go of her, and the smile Rhaenys had heard in her voice was there across her mouth, too.

“Let’s go take a walk,” Arianne said, and her smile went mischievous. “You need a break. We can discuss all your possible options, then you can tell me which one you want and I’ll gift you your future husband by the end of the feast. In your bed or waiting for you at the sept, whichever you prefer.”

Rhaenys made herself laugh.

“If you can do that,” she said, “I’m going to hide and make you do everything for me.”

* * *

Edmure Tully was next to arrive, with a larger party than Arianne had brought. Rhaenys had met some of his companions before, and didn’t much like any of them, but she made herself smile at them and offer them food and wine, show them to comfortable rooms, just as she did again when Lady Margaery arrived with her own large contingent of giggling girls, Lancel Lannister with his pack of brothers, cousins, and other Lannister men, several of the marcher lords in one group. It was almost a relief when Brienne of Tarth rode in alone, mere hours before the feast, quiet and unassuming.

Rhaenys smiled at the woman as she dismounted. The Lady Brienne was tall and ungainly, clad in a plain dress of dark blue, as if she hoped to avoid drawing attention to herself. Rhaenys could appreciate the impulse. “Lady Brienne, welcome.”

Brienne curtseyed awkwardly. “Princess Rhaenys. I – I thank you for the invitation.”

“ _I_ hope you stay for longer,” Rhaenys said. She pushed her lower lip out into a pout. “You will, won’t you?”

Brienne went red. “As – as you wish, princess.”

“Excellent,” Rhaenys said. She took Brienne’s arm and tugged her towards the castle. “Come in! You travelled quite a distance, you must need refreshments.”

She chattered as they walked and she wished she could shut up, but this part was easy. This she could do.

 _One thing at a time,_ she thought, and made herself smile. _One thing at a time._

* * *

There was music and dancing, food and flirting, wine and banter. Dany seemed to be enjoying herself, dancing with someone that Rhaenys couldn’t recognize from a distance. Arianne was touching Edmure Tully’s arm and smiling warmly; Viserys was seated with a cup of wine.

Rhaenys was fighting a surge of panic at just how many people were there.

Arianne had whispered a reminder earlier – _don’t worry, Rhaenys. I’m here. No one will lay a finger on you –_ but even that wasn’t enough to stop Rhaenys’s pulse from racing or her eyes from darting around the hall, compulsively searching for the exit. As she cast another look around, her gaze fell on the one person at the feast that looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

Brienne sat in the corner, clutching a cup of wine for dear life. Rhaenys was striding over to her before she even registered that she was moving.

“Not liking your drink?” she asked. Brienne started badly. She stammered for an answer, but Rhaenys cut her off with a smile and a conspiratorial wink. “To be perfectly honest…this isn’t my ideal location, either. But since we’re both here, let me introduce you to someone!”

She took Brienne’s hand and tugged her to where Daemon stood at the door, somehow looking more at ease than either of them, even as he remained there, not speaking to anyone. Some people had all the luck.

“Lady Brienne, may I introduce you to Ser Daemon Sand?” she said. “Lord Allyrion’s son and mine own cousin’s most trusted knight. Ser Brienne, this is Lady Brienne of Tarth.”

“My lady,” Daemon said, bowing, taking Brienne’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. When he straightened, Rhaenys could see that Brienne was taller, but not by much. “I’m honoured to make your acquaintance.”

Brienne managed to answer without stammering. Daemon smiled faintly and asked, “May I have this dance, my lady?”

She hesitated, then nodded tentatively, and the two of them took to the floor. That left Rhaenys with no real excuse to not do the same. So she threw herself into entertaining her other guests.

She flitted around the hall, checking in on anyone and everyone, laughing and japing, pressing a fresh cup of wine into Lancel’s hand and kissing Loras’s cheek and letting Edmure spin her around the floor for what felt like hours before she found Arianne and sat down next to her to catch her breath.

“Everything all right?” Arianne asked, fingers toying with a fig, eyes off somewhere in the distance. Rhaenys nodded, taking a long drink of water.

“Just a little tired.”

Arianne’s mouth quirked sympathetically. “Almost there, sweetling.”

They fell into silence for a while. Rhaenys scanned the hall for anything out of the ordinary, only for her eyes to catch on Brienne, seated not far from them. She was still with Daemon, and her big blue eyes were fixed on him adoringly. He didn’t seem to notice, but he was leaning forward, engaging her in conversation anyway. She stammered something in reply and he laughed. Rhaenys blinked in surprise.

Arianne huffed. Rhaenys glanced back over at her to see that her gaze was fixed in the same direction.

“He’s good in bed,” the Dornish princess said, determinedly neutral. “Clever. Sweet. And he wouldn’t presume to tell her what to do.”

“The two of you…”

Arianne nodded sharply.

“Yes,” she said, and even though her voice was calm, her fingers were knotted together so tightly her knuckles had turned white. “Years ago.”

“How…how long?”

Arianne didn’t answer for a long time. Just when Rhaenys had started to believe she wouldn’t, she said, “From the time we were fourteen up until I was betrothed to Viserys.”

She drew in another breath as if she wanted to keep talking, but instead, she pressed her lips together tight and shook her head.

Rhaenys tried to remember. She could barely remember a time before there had been an understanding that her cousin and uncle would one day wed, but the betrothal hadn’t been formalized until she’d been…twelve? Thirteen? And Arianne was four years older than her.

“That long?”

“He’d make her happy,” Arianne said instead of answering. “That much I can be sure of. If she can do the same for him…”

“I’ll find out what I can about her family, then,” Rhaenys said. “Even if they don’t wed, we might be able to find something that keeps them around each other.”

Arianne’s head jerked into another sharp nod. “I would appreciate it.”

She got to her feet and pulled Rhaenys up with her, the storm clouds of her face parting with her sunshine smile. “Now _we_ need to go enjoy ourselves. Come dance with me.”

* * *

“Samwell Tarly?” Daenerys said the next day, and her disappointment was palpable. “…oh.”

Even though Rhaenys had _known_ she couldn’t have expected Dany’s delight, it still hurt to see those crestfallen eyes. She sighed. “I take it you don’t like the idea.”

“Well…” Dany hesitated. “He’s not…he’s…”

Rhaenys sighed again. “I know.”

“Why him? Of all the men in Westeros?”

It was a fair enough question.

Rhaenys wanted to scream.

She was _protecting_ her, how did Dany not see that? How did she not understand all the calculations, all the concerns, all the ways either of them making the slightest of wrong moves could get them killed? How was she missing that _Rhaenys was trying?_

“He may not be handsome, or brave, or – or what you were hoping for,” Rhaenys said carefully rather than screaming, “but he’s his father’s heir. He’ll inherit valuable lands, and we can be sure he won’t hurt you. And from what we’ve seen of him…I expect you’d become the de facto head of House Tarly.”

She took her aunt’s face in her hands and made her eyes go as soft as she knew how to make them. “Daenerys, I want you to be _safe_. You know that, don’t you?”

Dany nodded quickly. “Yes, of course. Of course I know that.”

Rhaenys let herself take a breath, and the corner of her mouth quirked up. “I take it you met someone you liked better, then?”

Dany couldn’t suppress her grin. She nodded. Rhaenys tilted her head.

“And?”

“The one who was with your cousin,” Dany admitted. “Gerris. Drinkwater.”

“Gerris,” Rhaenys repeated, raising her eyebrows. “Really.”

Dany blushed prettily. “He’s very handsome, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” Rhaenys allowed, though she didn’t really know. No one, boy or girl, man or woman, had ever made her pulse quicken out of desire. She couldn’t remember once looking at anyone and imagining what it would be like to touch them, kiss them, wed them, bed them. No, when she saw people, her mind went to how they could help her, how they could hurt her.

Daenerys wasn’t like her.

She sighed again. “You know I would say yes in a heartbeat if we lived in less dangerous times, don’t you?”

Dany’s eyebrows knit together. “Dangerous?”

“It hasn’t been long since we were at war,” Rhaenys reminded her. “There are still those that are angry. Anything could spark another conflict.”

She hesitated, then took a risk. “We have to be the responsible ones. You and I, we have to keep our family together. Father is…reckless, sometimes.”

Daenerys’s violet eyes were wide and guileless, her pert mouth drawn into a moue. Rhaenys forged on. “Aegon does his best to keep him under control, but he can only do so much. What _we_ have to do is make sure the realm is as stable as we can make it. That way, no single action matters as much. And one of the best ways to do that is through alliances.”

“I – I understand,” Daenerys said, and for the first time, she looked shaken. Rhaenys reached out to pet her hair.

“Don’t worry,” she said, voice just shy of a croon. “I’m going to take care of everything.”

* * *

The Dornish party returned home first, but Daemon and Sarella stayed a few weeks longer with Rhaenys’s fledgling court. As they all settled into Summerhall, Rhaenys settled into a routine.

She found travelling singers and bards that had been hosted in the halls of castles all over the Seven Kingdoms, invited them in for stories and gossip, plying them with wine until they told her everything they knew. She met with the marcher lords that were in and out of her castle regularly, helping them settle disputes. She brought in knights and squires from all over. She took her ladies riding and hawking, held archery contests just for them.

One day, she rode alongside Margaery at the head of the company, who laughed and told her stories of Highgarden. Something about one of those stories – something inane about the sweetness of the fruit – caught Rhaenys’s attention, and she tilted her head. She tilted her head, honestly curious now. “What’s that like, spending your entire childhood in one place?”

Margaery’s answering smile was softer, somehow.

“Highgarden is – ” she began, looking somewhere past Rhaenys. “Well. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. And it’s home. I know every inch of the place. Whenever I walk into a room, it’s where Willas used to put me on his knee and draw me pictures of stars, or where Loras and I learned to dance, or where Garlan made us all laugh with his stories.”

It had to be an act, a carefully calculated performance directed at Rhaenys the Princess, not Rhaenys the woman, a gentle reminder of Margaery’s unmarried brothers. Why else would her eyes goes so soft and her eyes so open, as if there were nobody there to see her? A king for her and a princess for one of them. That had to be the goal.

Rhaenys drew in a breath and changed the subject. They continued to ride until the sun began to set. When they returned to the castle grounds, it was to see Brienne and Daemon sparring, Sarella watching with interest from the side with a book in her hands. Margaery brought her hands together in a clap, and Brienne jumped.

“Princess,” she blurted out, looking guilty, dropping her sword. “We were just –”

Rhaenys laughed. “No need to stop on my account, Lady Brienne. Nor to explain yourself.”

Sarella stood up and eyed Brienne appraisingly. “Have you ever tried a spear? My sister could teach you.”

“I – no,” Brienne stammered, blushing to the roots of her hair. “I…a sword, mostly. Or a mace.”

Sarella nodded understandingly. “I prefer a bow, myself. You should visit Sunspear. I’m heading to Oldtown soon, but my sisters could teach you all kinds of interesting things. Arianne would love to host you.”

 _Sunspear,_ Rhaenys thought. Perhaps Quentyn? But no, that couldn’t work – many a year had passed between the last time she’d seen Quentyn in King’s Landing and his arrival with Arianne for the feast, but rumour had it he was still painfully shy, and the little she’d seen of him during the feast had done nothing to dissuade that impression. It would be a good match for the both of them…but if Rhaenys wanted to count on support from the Stormlands, she needed better than mutually advantageous, she needed…

“That sounds nice,” Brienne said. She didn’t sound very sure about that. “Maybe one day.”

“I’ll have Arianne send you an invitation,” Sarella answered, her viper eyes gleaming and a catlike smile crossing her mouth. “No doubt Ser Daemon would be willing to escort you whenever the time comes.”

Daemon raised his eyebrows, but nodded. “Certainly.”

Brienne’s blush deepened.

* * *

In the evening, Rhaenys found herself sitting next to Brienne as a puppeteer performed for them. Brienne wasn’t watching the show – her eyes were fixed on where Daemon was sitting near a handful of young knights at the far end of the hall, quietly speaking to Sarella. Rhaenys rather thought she knew what the other woman was thinking.

Had Brienne’s eye been drawn to any other man, she would keep her mouth shut and never say anything. But Daemon…he was bastard born, and Brienne was heir to an island. He was kind and gallant while she was shy and awkward, listening to whatever she said without mocking her looks or size. Even Brienne might be willing to risk making that confession.

From what Sarella had said, Daemon had always been close to his father. If she facilitated his marriage to Brienne…Daemon would get lands and Rhaenys might get House Allyrion’s favour and Brienne could built a life with someone that could come to love her. But from what _Arianne_ had said, Daemon didn’t want lands or someone warm to share his bed, he wanted love to precede marriage. And Brienne’s father might have given up trying to arrange betrothals after she’d broken the third’s ribs, but that didn’t mean he’d allow her to wed a natural son. Attempting to arrange the marriage could lead to Rhaenys gaining the daughter’s love and the father’s hate. But with the father still young enough to live another twenty years, that might not be a risk worth taking. She needed to give it more thought. In the meantime…

“I received a letter from my brother today,” she said carefully – quietly, voice not audible to anyone but Brienne. “He received a complaint from some fishermen on Dragonstone. _Apparently,_ the increased ship traffic in the past few years is having a detrimental effect on the lamprey and salmon populations in the area. Fishing is important to Tarth’s economy, is it not? What have you done?”

Brienne started, but managed to recover, nodding even as a flush crept up her neck. “Aye, princess. Not so many merchant vessels travel between Tarth and the mainland, but…my father designated lines they cannot cross…put restrictions on what can be fished, where, how much, by who…”

She stammered her way through a brief explanation of those restrictions, then trailed off. Rhaenys nodded slowly, eyebrows knitting together as she thought it through. “Aegon thought to raise the matter at the next meeting of our father’s small council. I’ll send him a raven. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the information.”

She smiled. To her delight, Brienne smiled back. Rhaenys reached to cover her hand with her own. Brienne started, but didn’t pull away.

“You and I, we’re heirs in our own right, are we not? We ought to work together. Have a little…womanly influence on the Seven Kingdoms.”

Brienne’s brow furrowed in confusion, but she nodded. “Of course, princess. Whatever you wish.”

Rhaenys managed to avoid breathing an audible sigh of relief, instead pasting on a smile and going back to looking at the puppet show without watching.

Sarella would soon leave for Oldtown, Daemon for Sunspear, and Arianne had Dorne to worry about and the ever-present sly gleam in Margaery’s eyes put Rhaenys on edge, but Brienne was straightforward and honest and around her, Rhaenys didn’t have to worry about every word, every gesture, every tiny movement of her face.

Could she have Aegon marry Brienne instead? Tarth was well located for trade with Essos…self sustainable in terms of food…all but impossible to siege…she was less uncomfortable with Brienne than she was Margaery…and a Tarth becoming queen wouldn’t shift the balance of power dangerously.

It could work.

But she needed to talk to Aegon.

* * *

Her little brother hugged her.

Gods be good, she was older than him, it was her job to protect him, and yet at some point, he’d grown taller than her, and now he was holding her tight against him like he’d missed her as much as she had him. He was on her side, always. The two of them against the world.

“How’s Dragonstone?” she asked when he let go of her. “Did you get my raven?”

“Cold. And yes, I have people looking into how to implement those ideas right now. What about Summerhall?”

They kept babbling at each other for a while until they’d worked out enough energy to start making sense. Aegon ushered her into a chair and sat down across from her to exchange pleasantries.

“I’m trying to reinstate some of Aegon the Fifth’s reforms,” he told her when his voice was calm again. Rhaenys had to squeeze her eyes shut against the panic that threatened to choke her.

“That didn’t work the first time,” she managed. “What makes you think it will now?”

“Friendship?” her brother offered wryly. “The lords know me better than they knew him. Not to mention…they’re just as worried about another war as we are. Could take advantage of that to get what I want.”

“What you want,” she repeated, fixing him with a look. “What else are you planning?”

“Nothing too dangerous,” Aegon promised. “Or even that I need the lords’ permission to do! Just…to appoint Duck to the Kingsguard to replace Ser Gerold, once it’s time.”

Rhaenys laughed, and if it wobbled, who was there to know? Just Aegon, and it was them against the world. “You really do want to be just like him, huh.”

“Well…when the other choices are a conqueror, a usurper, and someone known to the entire world as unworthy…it’s not that difficult a choice.” He grinned, and Rhaenys bumped his shoulder with her own.

“I think you’re forgetting someone. What about the third one?”

Aegon snorted. “And here I thought you loved me. Doesn’t the _unlucky_ moniker speak for itself? I don’t think I’m well suited for spending the rest of my life miserable and silent. Not to mention…I’d think you would take offense at the idea of me abandoning you to be murdered.”

Rhaenys smiled. “That’s true enough.”

“Just leaves the fifth one,” Aegon said, holding up a hand and stretching out all five fingers.

“You could just be _you,_ ” Rhaenys pointed out. “I’m doing fine not following in the footsteps of either of my predecessors.”

Aegon inclined his head to concede the point. “But you’ll help me?”

“Of course I will,” she promised. “However I can.”

A sly smile crept across his face at the same time as he tucked his chin in to give her a sheepish look. She narrowed her eyes. “Aegon…”

“Would you talk to Father?” he asked quickly. “None of this will work if I can’t convince him it’s necessary.”

“What makes you think he’ll listen to me?”

It came out peevish, and she expected that to be the end of it for then, but Aegon just shook his head. “He loves you more than he’s ever loved me.”

The words were bitter, but Aegon’s tone was resigned, and something about it irked her. What was he _talking_ about? They had been a team since he had learned to walk. It was Aegon and Rhaenys, always, side by side. But here he was, suggesting that it wasn’t.

“No, he doesn’t,” Rhaenys snapped. “He doesn’t love anyone but himself.”

He raised his pale eyebrows at her. “You don’t really believe that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re smarter than that, Rhaenys!” he exclaimed, and now he sounded annoyed, too. “You’re the only one of us he’s ever cared about. All he does is think about you. And you’ve spent my whole life going out of your way to avoid him. What’s the point?”

“The _point_?” she echoed, outraged, but Aegon didn’t back down.

“It’s been years _,_ ” he said. “He made a mistake years ago. What’s the point in refusing to accept that he’s trying? It’s not going to change anything that happened. All it’s doing is hurting you.”

“A mistake,” she scoffed, shaking her head, and thought, _you couldn’t even talk._

She thought, _You didn’t even realize he was gone._

She thought, _You weren’t devastated when he came back._

But she didn’t – couldn’t – say any of that. How could she? Instead, she said, “He set the world on fire. He destabilized the realm. He abandoned his wife after she nearly died birthing his heir. And all he does is act like I’m the one that’s being unreasonable.”

“And that means you’re going to continue to not talk to him forever?”

“I never said I wouldn’t talk to him!”

“But you don’t!”

“Because maybe he doesn’t deserve it!” Rhaenys snapped, and the silence that followed was deafening. Both their voices had been raised, and they glared at each other, neither willing to yield an inch.

“Well,” Aegon said at last. “I suppose that’s your decision to make.”

She slumped back into her chair, and her brother did the same. This quiet wasn’t the easy kind of their childhood. It was thick and awful and suffocating.

“Egg?” Rhaenys said after her breathing evened out, trying for a light tone. She missed, but it was close enough that some of the tension eased out of Aegon’s shoulders.

“Rhae?”

“Just…” She hesitated, anger at herself spiking as she did – she was ruining her own attempt to fix things! She managed to forge on. “Just promise me you won’t ever do anything that risks burning down my castle and killing everyone in it, all right?”

Aegon’s brow creased with a puzzled frown, but he smiled and nodded and jested about her lack of trust and they managed to relax into a companionable silence.

* * *

There was a member of the Kingsguard standing by the door to the king’s solar.

“Ser Jaime,” she said. “How do you do.”

It was trite, but Jaime looked older, now. It had only been a few moons since she’d seen him last, but now his golden hair was silvered, faint crow’s feet etched at the corners of his eyes, lines bracketing his mouth. There was no sign of his old lively grin. Perhaps it had been like that for a while and she hadn’t noticed the change. Perhaps she, too, looked older. Could the world entire see that it was all she could do to keep her back straight and her chin up? When had he stopped smiling like it was second nature? When had she?

Ser Jaime inclined his head to her. “Welcome home, princess.”

“Thank you, ser.” She made to knock on the door, then paused, turning back to the Kingsguard. “Might I trouble you to go check on Daenerys? She wasn’t feeling well, and I was hoping to know if she’d be ready to return in the morning.”

Jaime smirked. “You know, if you want privacy, you could just ask me to leave. No need to make up errands.”

She smiled sweetly. “Would you, ser?”

Jaime bowed mockingly. “Your wish is my command, princess.”

He sauntered down the hall. Rhaenys watched him go, then strode into the room without knocking and cleared her throat at the king that hadn’t even noticed her entry. “Father.”

Rhaegar scrambled to his feet and hurried around his desk. “Rhaenys!”

He hugged her, and she allowed it, standing stiffly in his arms until he released her. She examined him carefully. He looked thinner, face pale and haggard. Even the silvery gold waterfall of his hair seemed dull. Even so, she told him, “You look well.”

“As do you,” he said, drinking in the sight of her. “I didn’t know you were coming, I would have made arrangements for a feast.”

“There’s no need for that,” Rhaenys said. “I won’t be staying long.”

Rhaegar’s shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh. To Rhaenys’s irritation, her own heart sank at the sight. How was it possible that his sadness could still bother her? How could his reactions to anything mean so much to her?

“I came to meet Aegon, but I must speak with you as well,” she said. Her father tilted his head to the side. “About Aegon’s land grant proposals.”

“Oh?”

“He’s right. It’s a good plan that’ll lead to long term gains and greater stability.”

Rhaegar sighed. “The lords are still angry over…it won’t be easy to get them to agree.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But they like Aegon. And he, Daenerys, and I are all still unmarried. If we make any betrothal conditional on supporting his reforms, we can make sure they pass within the next two years and are phased in over three.”

He considered her. “Talk me through it.”

“It – I mean, it depends,” she said, stammering over it in surprise. She’d expected a _no,_ followed by excuses and platitudes, or maybe even one of the _yeses_ that had grown increasingly common over the years for any small thing he even _suspected_ she wanted, as if he thought that would make her happy. It had been many a year since he’d asked her to make an argument, like he had when she was little and he would ask her _why,_ as if her answer was the most interesting thing in the world. “We’d start small with a limited number of people. Soldiers that have served more than, say, twenty years, or farmers that are experienced with tending someone else’s land. Then we sell lots for small sums based on a priority system, reinvest the money gained, and enact a price control system on staple foods to make it easier for smallfolk to save for such a lot. Then instead of charging these new landowners a land tax, we have them pay in some portion of their harvest, depending on the size of their family and the size of the farm. We further divide that between what we redistribute immediately, what we use, and what we store until winter.”

She fell silent. Rhaegar didn’t reply immediately, but his eyes went very soft. Then – “Okay.”

“Okay?” she checked. Rhaegar nodded.

“I trust you,” he said. “If you think it will work, I believe you can do it.”

Just for an instant, pride rushed through her, warming her through to her toes. She was a woman grown, years experienced in hating her father as much as she’d once loved him. But despite herself, that soft smile still brought her back to when she’d been three and toddled to him to show off that she’d learned to write her name, when he’d pulled her into his lap and tickled her and smiled that smile that was just hers. Dany, echoing Ser Barristan, had once called Rhaegar melancholic, and perhaps it was true. But he’d always had a smile for Rhaenys.

“Thank you,” she said. She turned to leave, but he called out to her to wait.

“I found you something,” he told her once she’d turned back to face him. “A – a gift.”

“A gift?” she echoed, tilting her head, and Rhaegar’s nod was eager.

“I searched everywhere for it,” he said. “In Essos, too. But I found it near Summerhall. I meant to wait until your nameday, but now is as good a time as any.”

Her brow furrowed as he pulled open a desk drawer, only for her eyes to widen as he emerged, clutching a bundle wrapped in cloth. Summerhall, she knew what this had to be – he’d told her about it, all those years ago, not long after he’d returned home from the war, when her fear, not yet settled into anger, had meant she wanted him with her, protecting her, never leaving again. In those weeks – months? A year? – she’d been his little princess, the absolute focus of his attention, and he’d told her stories that he promised he’d never told anyone else, stories based on information he’d learned that no one was left alive to know, whispered secrets in the night. Secrets about Summerhall and what had happened all those years ago. Now he placed the bundle into her arms reverently and pulled away the cloth to show her what she already knew was there.

She stared down at the object in her arms. Green and white swirled together over the surface. A dragon’s egg. A real dragon’s egg. The first anyone had seen in Westeros in decades.

And he hadn’t given it to Aegon or Jon, Daenerys or Viserys, neither any of the silver haired Targaryens nor the son whose conception had led to a war, he’d given it to _her._ His only daughter, the Targaryen that looked like a Martell.

She ran a thumb across the scaled surface. It was smooth, reminding her of snake skin. A dragon’s egg to go along with the castle built by Daeron the Good…two priceless gifts, to the daughter and not the heir. Gifts that would be astounding even _for_ an heir.

She glanced away from the egg and up at her father. He was still, hands folded in front of him, knuckles white from how tightly they were clasped together. His eyes were fixed on hers, wide and hopeful and waiting for some reaction, any reaction.

“Father, I – I –”

She didn’t know how to finish the sentence. What could she possibly say? How could she respond to her father searching everywhere for something they hadn’t believed existed? Not only searching, but _finding_ it and presenting it to her like it was just a gift, not something monumental?

He’d betrayed her mother.

He’d plunged the kingdom into a war.

He’d abandoned her.

And he’d spent almost her entire life searching for her forgiveness, desperately trying to return what they’d had when she’d been a child, crawling all over him and demanded songs and stories. Mostly he’d tried with stories, just like before he’d left. But they were stories that came across more as confessions, a child’s excuses rather than any kind of real apology. She wasn’t a child anymore and neither was he.

How could she forgive him? But this wasn’t a trinket, wasn’t a gown or bit of jewellery or some favourite food brought to her in the library. This was a _dragon egg_ when the world entire believed there were no more left, a dragon egg for the blood of the dragon, a dragon egg for the Targaryen princess with the face of her Martell mother, a dragon egg that her father had searched everywhere to find for _her._

She stood there, staring, speechless, and of all the thoughts swirling around in her head, of Rhaegar and Elia, of an affair and a war, of a sword of Valyrian steel and a king that had hated his heir, not one of them was of a possible response.

She didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t seem to matter, because Rhaegar’s stiffness melted away as she stammered. He smiled, and it was blindingly bright, brighter than she’d ever seen him smile. His eyes shone.

“You’re the Princess of Summerhall,” he said. “You’re my firstborn child. This egg is yours by rights.”

“Thank you,” she said, and the words weren’t right at all, but it didn’t seem to matter, because Rhaegar’s smile broadened even further.

“Rhaenys Targaryen,” he mused. “A name for dragonriders.”

She skittered back, breath catching, hands tightening involuntarily around the egg. “Father–”

How was it possible that he could _still_ break her heart?

He’d given her a castle and a dragon’s egg and still, it all came back to the Rhaenys of old, a head of the dragon _,_ just as it had for as long as she could remember.

Rhaenys had dreamt of dragons, once upon a time, of her little Balerion growing wings like the Black Dread of old and taking her into the sky. A child’s fantasy that had morphed into a deep yearning to be away – away from her father, away from the judgemental eyes of courtiers, away from the schemers that would rather she die – for everything to burn to the ground, enveloped in cleansing flames, so something better could rise from the ashes. But she couldn’t, not like this, not after everything that that same dream had caused.

Rhaegar’s stories of Targaryens long gone had included Aegon the Unlucky’s mages and Baelor the Blessed’s prayers and Aerion Brightflame’s gruesome end and Aegon the Unlikely’s desperate attempts to save the world. She couldn’t be one of them. She wouldn’t. Especially not when she’d also dreamed of ice and screams and death all around her.

She shook her head, heart racing, but Rhaegar just _kept talking._ She had to say something, she had to do something, but her breath was solid in her throat and she couldn’t get enough air and Rhaegar’s voice – _every Rhaenys was a famed rider_ and _I never thought about it when I named you_ – was making it all worse.

“Surely, it’s fate,” Rhaegar finished. “This egg was meant for you to have.”

Finally, she could speak, and the old anger flared up again, uncontrollable, because _how dare he say that to her_?

“ _There is no such thing as fate_!” she all but shrieked. “It’s like you haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said in my entire life!”

She started pacing, back and forth in front of the desk, gesticulating wildly with the egg she still held. “Your great grandfather believed it was his destiny to bring back dragons and he killed half his family trying. Your grandfather believed in the damned prince that was promised and forced his children to marry because of it, paving the way for the deaths of thousands. And _you._ You started a war for your _fucking_ Visenya and got a Jon instead. How much more evidence do you need?!”

Her father’s purple eyes were wide and hurt, the eyes of a child rather than a man, and she had never hated him more than in this moment. How dare he look at her like that? What gave him the right to be _hurt_?

Her eyes stung and she had to bite down hard on her lip to stop it from wobbling.

“I have to go,” she said. “Remember what I said.”

“Rhaenys!” her father called, but she was already gone, hurrying out the door, down the hall.

She kept going, not stopping until she’d reached her own childhood bedchambers and barred the door behind her, sinking to the ground. Only then did she let herself start crying.

**Author's Note:**

> PHEW. This was...a lot. It was kind of a weird writing experience for me in that I didn't really ever get _stuck_ , but I just...kept going. And I don't really have anyone I feel comfortable asking to beta, so there's that. Also, if I'd been smarter, I would have posted this and _if that mockingbird don't sing_ under a different AO3 handle than my main rather than anonymously or under my main, but I'm commited to this route now. Any comments would be super appreciated.
> 
> Sequel at _[as the leaves turned to gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536859)_.


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